


Night Terrors

by Blue_Eyes_Apprentice



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bill Denbrough is a Good Friend, Bisexual Bill Denbrough, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional grown ass men, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, M/M, Minor Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Panic Attacks, Sharing a Bed, Stanley Uris-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 23:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20714204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Eyes_Apprentice/pseuds/Blue_Eyes_Apprentice
Summary: [EDIT: THE EVENTS OF THIS ONESHOT ARE NOW BEING REWORKED AS PART OF A MUCH LARGER FANFIC. THIS IS A ‘MEH’ DRAFT THAT I POSTED BC I DIDN’T THINK I’D WRITE THE BIGGER FIC. PLZ DON’T @ ME.]AU. Set in a timeline where Stanley Uris survives his bath.After narrowly escaping death’s grasp (and It’s), Stan breaks out of the hospital and books an emergency trip back to Derry in hopes that he can cure whatever this thing is in his head that’s continually taunting him and telling him he’s going to die at any given moment.His first night in the townhouse is a rough one. Thankfully, he has Bill to keep the evils at bay.





	Night Terrors

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hi, hello Ao3! 
> 
> This AU/oneshot started off as a series of snippets over on my tumblr (and I suggest you go read the first three that take place before this! They enrich the story and quite frankly the third one makes me laugh)
> 
> Anyway, I don’t anything here except for my own writing, I’m just out here trying to make use of all these sappy feels I’ve been having post-Chapter 2.
> 
> Enjoy~!

Stan would be sleeping in Bill’s room that night; a decision amongst them all while Stanley half-snoozed on the sofa after cleaning the plate of take-out that Richie and Bev had gotten him.

“Bill’s the lightest sleeper, and has a room on the ground floor. If Stan needs him, or, god forbid, things go bad, Bill would be easy to wake and quicker to get him out of there.”

It’s not that they don’t trust Stanley, but everyone feels a little uneasy at the idea of leaving their friend, who’s in a very vulnerable place mentally at present, alone while there’s a murder clown with a vendetta against Losers on the loose. 

The others collectively agree not to ask Stan about what happened after the phone call. At least not until everyone’s gotten some decent rest, and they can stomach whatever details they’re given. 

And then, one by one, they all head back to their rooms, leaving Bill to rouse Stanley and cart him off back to his.

“Alright- Come on, Stanley Urine.” Bill grunted, hooking an arm under Stan’s armpits and hauling him up on his feet.

“Hey Billy?” Stan asks softly through a yawn.

“Yeah, man?”

“..You’ve been spending too much time with Richie.”

Bill can’t help the snorting laugh he lets out as they start down the hall towards his room.

“Oh, shuddup. How can I do that? I’ve only remembered Trashmouth’s name for 24 hours.”

“24 hours too many.”

This time, they both laugh.

————————————————————————————————————

“You planning on s-slee-eping in that?” Bill asks, punctuated by a fist smacking against the bathroom counter and a frustrated ‘_ damn it’ _ under his breath. He’s trying to not let the stutter bother him, but it’s _ there _ and it is _ annoying _ to deal with suddenly after almost 20 years without it.

Stan looks up for a moment from fiddling with his sweater’s buttons, and then back down at the stiff, crumpled hospital gown he was still wearing underneath it, making a face. He’d already done away with his bracelet, back at the airport, but without a change of clothes, he couldn’t exactly do much with this other than cover it up.

“I mean, I’d rather not. It’s kind of uncomfortable. But I don’t have a change of clothes, and I really don’t know how I’d feel about sharing a bed topless with a guy who I _ know _ is one of my closest friends, but still _ feels _like a complete stranger in a way.”

“I get that. Don’t sweat it, I’ll get you something from my bag.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Bill says, bending over to the suitcase in his closet and popping the lid to rifle through its contents.

“Do you get cold? I u-..usually sleep with the a/c on in hotels.”

A little voice in the back of Stan’s head chimes to him ‘_ feeling a little chill will be normal’ _ and he _ thinks _ it was one of the nurses that had fussed over him at five o’clock that morning, but it’s too fuzzy to remember.

“A little, I guess.”

“Got it. Sleeves it is.” Bill nods, chucking a grey waffled long sleeve in the bed’s direction and closing up the suitcase again. Stan grabs the garment and shrugs out of his sweater, but has..difficulty trying to undo the snaps on the back of the gown. The motion pulls at his wounds, and they sting, making it hard to get his hands to cooperate. He makes it past one or two before caving and asking for help.

“Hey Bill?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind? These,” he gestures with his wrappings, “are making it kind of hard to reach backwards.”

“I gotcha, buddy.”

The rest of the snaps come apart easy enough for Bill, and he helps Stan gently pull the offending gown over his arms and off, tossing it in an unceremonious heap on the floor. Somewhere in the back of his head, Bill thinks that that might bother Stan if he were fully coherent, and makes a mental note to fold it up in the morning.

“Thanks for the shirt.” Uris mumbles around Bill’s shirt, pulling it down and over his head first, then carefully easing his arms through the sleeves, adjusting them over top of his bandages.

“That fit ok?”

It was a bit short, if Stan was being honest. He caught a glimpse of his bare stomach when he bent forward to look down the garment. But it was comfortable. Not too tight, relatively soft, and warm, but not overbearing. Something about it belonging to Bill brought him an odd sort of comfort, but he wasn’t about to voice _ that _ out loud.

“It’s good. Yeah.”

“Good. You done with the light?”

Stan yawns, mumbling a weary ‘_ yeah _’ before scooting backwards on the bed until there was room for Bill to get in next to him. They share a quick exchange,

“Night, Stan.”

“Night, Bill.”

and then Bill hits the lamp switch next to his side of the bed and thrusts the room into an uneasy darkness.

Bill closes his eyes, shifting and making himself comfortable.

Stan’s stay wide open, and he tries to pretend that the dark, and therefore the unpleasant images and thoughts that often accompany it, don’t bother him.

———————————————————————————————————

It’s been maybe an hour since Bill turned the lights off when he hears a soft gasp behind him on the bed.

“_ I have to call Pattie _.” It’s barely more than a whisper, but it’s enough to grab his attention.

“What?”

Bill rolls over with a grunt until he’s able to make out Stan in the darkness. The other man is laying flat on his back, eyes blearily on the ceiling.

“I _ have _ to call _ Pattie _ ,” he repeats, his voice more sure, with the slightest waiver, “God, she’s probably worried sick. She _ has _ to have gone to visit me at some point today. Or called. I left her a note on our table before I left but..I mean after my scare- I owe it to her to at least _ tell _ her that I am alright-..”

“Y-you’re rambling, Stan. I think sh-..she would understand if you wait. It’s late, and you’re exhausted. You need to slee-..eep.”

Stan half acknowledges Denbrough’s words, but his racing thoughts make it impossible to process them. In the end, his rambling cuts off abruptly when a hand clamps over his mouth, desperately trying to hold back the beginnings of a sob. Bill can’t really see Stan’s face, but he can hear him, how his voice is practically dripping with guilt when he speaks again.

“I can’t even imagine what she’s _ thinking _ right now- She was so scared in the hospital..and I couldn’t even _ explain _ or tell her _ why _ I-..why I-”

Stan sobs into his palms again, harder, and Bill quickly props himself up on his elbow, leaning over to loosely wrap an arm around the shaking man.

“Hey- _ hey now.. _ Stan come on- it’s al-..it’s okay..It’s okay, I p-..pr-omise.” He soothes, bringing his hand up to card through Stanley’s hair when the man shifts and leans into Bill, burying his face into Bill’s shirt. He’d seen Stan have enough panic attacks as a kid, though the memory’s vague; Hell. _ He’s _ had enough panic attacks at this point in his life to recognize one when it’s happening. And this one was gonna be _ bad. _

Everything was suddenly hitting Stan all at once. All the emotions, all of the _ memories. _All the nightmares of twisted faces he couldn’t place that chilled him to the bone, coming to swallow him up. And names;

_ Neibolt. _His own screams echoing off the sewer walls.

_ Judith. _His father’s office.

_ Deadlights. _What he sees when he dies.

**_Pennywise._** The thing that wants him dead.

Petrified by merely even thinking_ that _ name, he lets out a broken shriek and clings to Bill’s shirt like a lifeline, hoping that if he could get even one handhold in this roiling storm of trauma, that it might not drown him. But he’s _ terrified _ and every fiber of his being is screaming that he’s in _ imminent _ danger. It hurts to think. It hurts to _ breathe _ because the lump in his throat is _ that _ suffocating.

“No.._ please _ .. _ I can’t be here _ .. _ I can’t-! _” Stan chokes out, letting go and briefly trying to struggle away, but Bill’s not having it, holding him still until he stops, murmuring calming sentiments in the man’s ear despite the occasional elbow he receives to the ribs.

“Yes- you _can_. You _are_, whether you like it or not. Now stop that before you hurt yourself-!”

The words sort of hit home. Stanley’s shaking like a leaf- he stops hitting Bill, but he’s still pushing feebly at his chest. Every time he blinks he’s back in that sewer, staring down a monster’s throat as it tries to eat him alive. Or worse, back in his bathtub, heart hammering as It nearly succeeds in frightening him to his death. There’s a sharp ache in his arms where they’re pinned between his and Bill’s chests, searing where his stitches should be. His face aches worse- sharp, stabbing pains in his temples with each sob, only serving to draw more tears each time.

“Fight it. _ Fight it _, Stan. Don’t let him get to you.” Bill pleads, taking Stan’s wet face in his hands, his thumb stroking gently over the myriad of old scars there. The action grounds him, and their warmth dulls the ache, but it’s not enough to snap Uris fully out of it.

“I ** _can’t_ ** _ .” _ Stan whimpers. His body’s getting too tired to keep up. He stops trying to fight Bill, lets him bump their foreheads together, even though his brain keeps telling him ‘ _ too, too close.’ _His shaking hands come up to take hold of Bill’s, eyes squeezed shut against another phantom pain in his skull.

“..Yes you can. _ Yes you can _ , _ Stanley. _ I know you can..”

_ “I can’t. It’s in my head, Bill..It’s in my _ ** _head_ ** _ , and It’s trying to kill me.” _Tears run freely down Stan’s face, shuddering as he speaks, but Bill doesn’t let him turn away. He keeps his hands on Stan’s cheeks, gently thumbs the tears away as they fall, and looks him in the eyes- those wild, terrified eyes, like they’re the only thing in the room.

“No it’s not. Not anymore, because you beat It. You came home.”

Stan’s eyes close and his hands fall away, and Bill’s arms envelope the other man once more, pulling him close as he can, and this time, the embrace is reciprocated, Stan wrapping his arms around Bill and burying his face in Denbrough’s neck.

“Do you hear me, Stanley? _ You. Beat. _ ** _It_ ** _ . _” He insists, pressing a kiss to Stan’s temple and cradling the back of his head in one hand while the other moves in soothing circles against his back. There’s a wetness seeping through his shirt where Stan’s face is pressed into his collarbone, but he doesn’t care.

_ ‘You beat It _.’; Bill whispers those three words like a mantra, holding Stan while he weeps, until finally he manages to get a hold of himself and take a deep enough breath to stop. They lay still for a few minutes while he comes down, neither making a move to speak. Bill simply waits, stroking his friend’s hair mindlessly, feeling the shuddering breaths against his chest slowly even out until Stanley relaxes completely in his arms.

“You okay?” Bill asks quietly. The fingers clenched in his shirt have gone slack. Briefly, he wonders if the man’s fallen asleep- but then he feels a nod against his shoulder.

“..Yeah.” Stan finally answers in a raw, shaky voice, sniffing.

“Think you’re okay to call your wife? You gonna stay awake long enough?”

“I..I think so. Yeah.”

“Okay. Where’s your phone?”

“The desk.”

“I’ll get it for you.”

Stan untangles himself from Bill, and Bill lets go of Stan, rolling away onto his back and fumbling around for the light switch on the bedside table. It takes him a second, but eventually his fingers brush the knob in the darkness and he gives it a twist, illuminating the room with a ‘click’.

Peeling back the covers, Denbrough sits up and swings his legs over the side, getting to his feet before making his way over to the small desk in the room’s corner. Stan’s phone sits beside his, plugged in to an outlet in the wall. It was the only one they could find that wasn’t in the bathroom.

As he’s unplugging Stan’s phone from its charger, his own buzzes on the table, the screen lighting up to reveal a text. Bill takes the device and hits the side button to bring the lock screen back up, and reads the message.

It’s from Bev, and all it says is ‘You ok?’.

Bill frowns and remembers that she’s in the next room over. She’d probably heard Stanley through the wall considering where the bed is. For a second, he just stares at it, feeling bad that they’d probably woken her, but then he remembers that he’s on a bit of a time clock, and if he doesn’t hurry it up, Stan’s gonna fall asleep. And if Stan doesn’t make this phone call..

He shakes his head, hitting ‘reply’ and sending back ‘Yeah. Ok now.’ before setting his phone back on the table and starting back over to the bed. It buzzes a second later and he looks back just in time to see the heart emoji she’d sent back.

Stan’s sitting up back at the bed, albeit a bit hunched over, and rubbing his eyes. His hair’s a frazzled mess. It reminds Bill of the wild curls he’d had when they were kids, and he can’t help the tiny smile that forms on his face before Stan notices he’s looking.

“He-here.” He says, holding the phone out for Stan to take as he sits down beside him on the mattress.

“Thank you.”

“Do you want me to step out? I’d understand if you’d like some privacy.”

“No, don’t-” Stan says a bit too urgently, his cheeks going red briefly before he regains his composure, “..I mean.. It’s fine. You can stay.”

“Okay. I’m right here for you, Stan the Man.” Bill assures, giving the other man a pat on the knee.

Taking a deep breath, Stan opens up his contacts list and scrolls until he finds Pattie, tapping the screen until the option to call comes up and hitting ‘dial’ before bringing the device up to his ear. Waiting for the call to go through is an anxious moment, but the phone only rings back at him about 3 times before he’s met with a teary sounding voice on the other end.

“_ Stanley?” _

“Hi, sweetheart.” He greets her in the cheeriest voice he can muster. She sounds like she’s been crying. So does he.

“_ Oh my god..where did you go? What happened?” _

“I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

“_ Where are you?” _

“I uh..I’m in Maine.”

“_ Maine? What are you doing there?” _

“I went back to my hometown.”

Pattie sighs on the other end of the line. Stan knows she’s trying to make sense of everything he’s saying, even if it’s difficult.

“I know this was sudden..I gave you every reason to worry, and I’m so,_ so _ sorry for that, but..something is wrong with my head. I came home with the hope that I’d find a way to fix it.”

“_ Are you okay?” _

“I’ve..I’ve been better. But yeah. Yeah, honey. I’m okay. I promise.”

“_ Okay _.”

Bill leans back against the headboard, listening to them talk, but trying not to pay _ too _ much attention, because the topic is going in a not so pleasant direction, and he can’t help thinking ‘this is _ private _ stuff _ . _ I really _ shouldn’t _ be listening’. But Stan was the one who asked him not to leave, so if Bill hears anything Stan doesn’t want him to, then that’s technically on him.

He catches something about Stan fighting a doctor when Pattie asks if he remembers anything from the hospital, and actually physically winces when Stan confesses that all that he really remembers from the last two days is crying out in a panic for Pattie to help him while he’d lain in the bath steeping in his own blood.

Yeah. He definitely shouldn’t have listened to that part.

They choose to drop that topic when Stan doesn’t answer his wife for a minute, and Pattie instead asks if Stan’s staying with anyone, remembering that he’d gotten a call from a friend in town before things went to hell.

“Yeah. I’m staying with my friend Bill. We’re splitting a room at the townhouse.”

Stan doesn’t mention the fact that Bill just comforted him through a _massive_ panic attack. Probably because he doesn’t want to worry Pattie any more than he has already, and honestly, Bill doesn’t blame him. The poor woman is already on edge enough from the fact that her husband had tried to kill himself and then up and went missing from his hospital bed all within 24 hours.

“_ Is Bill the one who called?” _Pattie asks.

“No, that was our friend Mike.”

“_ Oh. What was that about?” _

“Mike..Mike planned a reunion for the seven of us. The Losers Club. That’s what we used to call ourselves- my best friends and I, when we were kids.”

Bill swears he can hear a quiet ‘how sweet’, and has to seriously restrain himself from rolling his eyes. Yeah, Pattie. Real sweet. A nice little get-together where they have to try and murder a demonic clown in a decrepit sewer. It’ll be a real treat.

The conversation continues on for a few more minutes while Stan half-lies his way through an explaination about why he’s there- something about a promise they’d made after Bill’s little brother passed away when they were kids, until Pattie yawns on her end. Stan yawns on his shortly thereafter. Bill fights the urge, but ends up muffling one with his hand anyway. Denbrough turns to look at the clock. Shit- was it seriously one o’clock already?

“_Well, I don’t feel like I can say that I totally understand__,__”_

_“-_and I’m not expecting you to, all things considered. I never told you anything about my childhood in Derry.”

_“And that’s..that’s alright. But..I’m glad your friends are there for you, baby, and that you’re trying to get help. Stanley..Please don’t hesitate to call me if you need to talk. I’ll pick up, no matter what time.” _

“I know, Pattie. I promise, if I need to, you’ll be the first one I call.”

_ “Try to get some rest, okay? Call me when you wake up.” _

“I will. I love you, Pattie.”

_ “I love you too, Stanley.” _

The call ends with a soft ‘click” from Stan’s phone, and he drops it in his lap. Bill watches as he leans forward, putting his head in his hands for a moment and letting out a long sigh. Bill’s hand ends up on the small of his back for a moment, giving an encouraging pat. Stan sits back up, stretching his back, his arms in the air above his head, before he lowers them, sagging a bit from his straight posture.

“Better?” Bill asks, still eyeing Stan’s face. His eyes are red and puffy, but there’s a little half-smile on his face as he passes Bill his phone to put on the bedside table.

“Yeah. Lots, actually.”

“Think you’ll be able to sleep now?”

Stan doesn’t answer, only shifts and scoots on the bed until he’s laying back down. Taking that as a ‘yes’, Bill flicks the light off again and does the same, pulling the blankets back up to cover them both and resting an arm under his head on his pillow.

It takes Stanley _ maybe _ five minutes to drop off. Bill’s barely gotten cozy enough to be drowsy when he hears the man’s quiet snores to his right. Rolling on his side to get comfortable, Bill sees that Stan’s facing him and smiles softly. He’s mostly on his side, arms tucked into his chest, breathing deep and rhythmically, and surprisingly, he’s moved closer than when he and Bill had originally gone to bed.

Cautiously, Bill moves a little closer too, and carefully drapes his arm over Stanley’s waist. Stan makes a soft, almost contented noise at the touch. Bill thinks he might’ve imagined it, or maybe it’s a trick of barely-existent light on his eyes, but he swears he sees a _ hint _ of a smile creep up on Stan’s mouth for half a second, and an almost familiar feeling of warmth blooms in his chest, bringing with it enough drowsiness to help Bill nod off easily after a few more minutes of lying there in the quiet.

At some point, one of Stan’s feet ends up tucked between Bill’s ankles under the covers, and then just kind of stays there.

It’s cold, but Bill doesn’t mind.


End file.
